When Nightmares Follow
by Maddie
Summary: Tag to the second season opener "A Gathering of Guns". On the journey from New Mexico to Paradise, Ethan is plagued by nightmare of the time he spent in imprisoned by Luther Cochran. Ethan, Amelia. Ethan/Amelia


**Author's Note** : This story was actually written while _Paradise_ was still being broadcast. At the time, the only real venue for sharing fanfiction was through fanzines (hard copy paper prints) and there were no 'zines' devoted to _Paradise_. So this story and the other two I plan on posting in the next few days have never been shared with other fans. I have quite a few stories from different fandoms that either were never published or were only published in hard copy and never on the internet. I'm trying to get all of them posted here. Scanning and reformatting takes time.

For those who are following me in hopes of another Bethyl/TWD story I apologize. I don't know if that's going to happen any time soon. I've gone back to some of my old favorite fandoms. You know, the ones where, regardless of what happened during each episode, you could pretty much be assured that the main characters would be alive at the end of the season. And for many seasons after. I've grown tired of investing time in characters that are killed off with little or no real reason.

For the _Paradise_ fans that might be out there. I hope you enjoy this. I really loved these characters and this show.

 _ **When Nightmares Follow**_

Blushing with a ghostly amber glow, the full moon shimmered through the trees, a luminous jewel suspended above the jagged horizon, spinning threads of silver and rust through the hushed forest. _Harvest moon_ , Amelia thought absently, drawing her jacket about her and turning her collar up around her ears to ward off the evening chill. The first crispness of autumn seeped through the quiet mountain woodland, leaving the night air sharp and clear. _Have we b_ _e_ _en gone that lon_ _g_ _?_ She asked herself, mentally counting the days. So much had happened so quickly she had lost track of time, but they were almost home. Their journey, begun in such desperation, would soon be over.

Huddled by the fire, Amelia watched as Ethan knelt beside Ben and George. Firelight danced across his face, captured for an instant as a sparkle in his dark eyes. The boys, wrapped cocoon like in a gaily colored Mexican blanket, were sound asleep, blissfully unaware of their uncle's silent vigil. He tucked the blanket more tightly around them, then moved to check on Claire and Joseph. It was the third time he had performed the same ritual. Satisfied they were all sleeping, he walked to the shadowy border of the camp, moving with the cautious actions of someone who is stiff from prolonged inactivity, or plagued with sore and aching muscles.

Standing and stretching her own cramped legs, Amelia stepped around the children and approached Ethan as he stood staring into the delicate tapestry of the moonlit darkness. It could have been an enchanted evening. The mist rising in the valleys below was a fairy blanket obscuring the ground, suspending the treetops in an ocean of moon flecked whiteness. Amelia imagined wood sprites flitting capriciously through the cloudy vales. She smiled to herself, then rested her hand gently on Ethan's arm.

"It's a lovely night," she said softly to the silent figure beside her. "But you should take yourself to bed, Ethan. It's been a long day, and we still have a hard ride tomorrow if we're going to reach Paradise before dark."

Ethan turned toward her, putting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. "I know it. I just can't sleep."

"You're exhausted." Though the darkness cast by the overhanging fringe of hemlock under which they stood masked his face with merciful shadows, Amelia knew what the darkness hid. She had seen the sunken hollows of his cheeks and the blue-black smudges under his fever bright eyes. The arm she slid around his waist felt the unnatural warmth of his body and the thinness he had tried to conceal. Through neglect, his wounds had become infected. Fever, starvation and exhaustion had taken their toll, and although John Taylor had tended to Ethan's injuries before their departure from New Mexico, only rest would restore his strength. And Ethan was fighting rest like a wolf fights a leg hold trap, driving them to return to Paradise, putting as many miles between himself and Los Gatos, New Mexico as possible, leaving the nightmare of EI Camino Del Diablo far behind. Or so she hoped.

Day by day, Amelia had watched Ethan's growing restlessness. After the initial excitement of finding and losing the Confederate war chest, he had begun to withdraw from both her and the children. He was with them, and yet part of him was not. She had tried to tell herself he was simply tired, but in truth, she knew he was running – not for the first time in his life, but this time no posse pursued him and he could not run from whatever fears he was trying to elude.

"Come on," she urged gently. "You have to get a little sleep, or you will never keep up with the children tomorrow. We'll soon be home."

Ethan took a deep breath and looked at her. Nodding, he gently squeezed her shoulders. He allowed her to lead him to the bedroll spread next to hers where she settled him, then lay down with her back to him. Snuggling into the warmth of his body, reveling in the feel of him, Amelia wondered if she would ever get bored with the sensation. She smiled, thinking of the first time they had camped alone, and her admonition. "You know the rules, mate," she had said. "Snuggle up for warmth. Watch the hands." She still found the words amusing, and was still grateful he had, in part ignored her request.

Turning slowly, she started to speak, then realized Ethan was asleep, his face relaxed and his breathing deep and regular. She shifted her weight so she could be near him, yet avoided putting pressure on the angry red weals which lined his forearms. She wondered if the scars would someday vanish, or if he would always carry a reminder of Luther Cochran. Ethan had not spoken to her of what had happened while he was a prisoner in El Camino Del Diablo and she had not asked, hoping in time, he would feel free to confide in her. What she knew she had gleaned from conversations with Skragg and Pierce, and what she could see with her own eyes.

 _But that_ _i_ _s_ _over now_ , she thought. _He_ _'_ _s here wit_ _h_ _us. Safe._ _Until the next time. Damn!_ Some nagging part of her mind had added that. She sounded like Joseph, assuming there would always be a next time, another bounty hunter, or sheriff, or someone with a grudge. _No, not again_ , she told herself. She snuggled closer, as though her presence alone could protect him from all danger, and willed herself to sleep.

Several hours later, Amelia awoke with a start, befuddled by sleep and unsure of where she was. An awareness that something was wrong nagged at her, but she could not pinpoint what or why. As she lay quietly, letting the night sounds wash over her, she began to relax, drowsing lightly and wondering what had awakened her so abruptly. Rolling slightly on the ground, she reached out, and realized she was alone. The blanket beside her had long grown cold. She sat up, and as she did she noticed a dark shadow huddled by the dying embers of the campfire. She was certain the silent figure wanted to be alone, but her heart told her solitude was the worst thing for him right now. Rising to her feet, she walked soundlessly toward Ethan, laying her hand on his shoulder when she neared. He never moved.

"Been wonderin' when you'd wake up," he said softly. He held a branch in his hand and prodded the fire's last coals. The tip of the green wood stick smoldered with a rich crimson glow and he held it up, studying the spark of color. She felt a shudder run through him and she knelt beside him in the dust. "Skragg told me I'd better get used to the nightmares. He didn't say how long it'd take." Ethan dropped the twig back into the dirt and wrapped his arm around Amelia, drawing her close.

"Is that why you won't sleep?"

"I'd hoped I'd leave 'em behind. In New Mexico. In El Camino Del Diablo where nightmares belong." Ethan took a deep breath, then exhaled. "Seems I was wrong."

Amelia reached up, cupped his chin in her hand and turned his face towards her, looking deeply into his troubled eyes. "The bad dreams will pass, Ethan. In time, they will pass." She desperately wanted him to talk to her. To tell her what had happened during his captivity and hoped in the telling some of the fear would pass as well. "I will always listen if you want to talk."

Ethan kissed her forehead, and she felt him gently nuzzle her hair. "Thinkin' about you and the children got me through, Amelia. When there wasn't any hope, I thought of you. Not even hatin' him could give me that strength, 'cause the hate only went so far."

Amelia leaned into his embrace and rested her head against his shoulder. She felt him flinch and she drew back, concerned. "Is the pain bad?"

Ethan laughed, a dull mirthless sound. "That's what Cochran always asked, just before he made sure it was."

"Ethan, I-"

"You didn't say anything to hurt me. The hurtin' was all his doin'." Ethan stared for a long time at the dying fire, its ruddy glow deepening the hollows of his face. "The hardest part…" His voice caught and he paused. "The hardest part, was knowin' I couldn't stop him. It's one thing to take a beating 'cause you deserve it. There's times when I have. Or to bite down hard and not talk 'cause you know someone else might pay if you did. Its different knowin' there's nothing in your power that will stop the pain. No information you can give. No admittin' you're guilty. Nothing."

"You were completely at his mercy."

Ethan nodded, closing his eyes against the memory.

"And you hate feeling helpless." Amelia pushed on, as he once again stared at the red hot embers which were all that remained of their fire.

Tightening his grip on her, Ethan continued, "Skragg was so proud of me 'cause I'd lasted two hours with Cochran. Longer than anybody else." Ethan snickered. "It wasn't a matter of lastin' or holdin' out, or courage. I _couldn't_ tell him what I didn t know, Amelia. I didn't know where the gold was. And he wouldn't believe me. I didn't remember Lomax, or Skragg. I'd forgotten that part of my life. I'da never pulled that song outta my head if Skragg and Bat hadn't forced it out. Forced the memory in a way Cochran never could." Ethan nudged the green wood stick, which now lay cold and dull in the dirt. "Cochran's dead. I watched him die. But when I close my eyes, he's still there. I'm gonna be his prisoner for a long, long time."

"But we're here with you now."

Ethan looked into the darkness. There was a subtle change in the sounds of the night as nocturnal creatures settled to rest. "Sunup's comin', he said.

Amelia heard stirring from the bedrolls behind them. "Then let the sunshine chase away the night and its haunts. It _will_ get better, Ethan. With every dawn, some of the fear will slide away too. And when the night comes - you don't ever have to be alone." She leaned into his body, absorbed in his presence and grateful for his strength, which, to her, seemed undiminished by his trials. She willed her own spirit into his to soothe and comfort him, lending her own strength of will. As the sun edged over the horizon, painting the woodland with its delicate palette of golden color, she saw a small measure of peace in his face and he smiled at her.

(The end)


End file.
